Distance
by fickleAdoxograph
Summary: "How long until the chocolate-haired man pressing against his neck to smell him and kiss him good morning would tell him with a pair of rosy cheeks that he might have just gone over the edge, crossed the line, and come to the conclusion that he loved Lovino with all he had?" Song-drabble for 'Distance' by Christina Perri. Human names used.


_AN: This one wasn't planned. I was listening to music and 'Distance' by Christina Perri reminded me so much of SpaMano that the scenario in my mind couldn't possibly be left unwritten. I'd recommend you listen to this song unless you already have. It's very pretty._

_Also, school ends on Friday, so I'd expect Il Mio Canto Libero to be updated some time after that._

* * *

___The sun is filling up the room  
And I can hear you dreaming  
Do you feel the way I do right now?  
I wish we would just give up  
Cause the best part is falling  
Call it anything but love_

Lately, Lovino had started to actually acknowledge the change in his way of living. His way of spending free-time warm and golden-brown under the yellow light of Antonio's bedside lamp. He had developed a habit of waking up before the Spanish man, watching him and the room with half-lidded eyes which were sprinkled with tears from yawning, touching Antonio's waist as a reminder that it was happening for real. And it kept happening; in fact, it had been happening for a while now. In retrospect, all he could comprehend was that he spent most nights in somebody else's bed instead of his own, yet he couldn't remember how it started. And deciding whether he wanted to continue down this road or not was the toughest choice he'd ever encountered. The way he fell asleep restless at 3 a.m. whenever he was atop his ___own _bed-sheets was proof enough he was unable to return to not being Antonio's lover, he knew that much, and yes, by now he could even let himself think of them as lovers without feeling contaminated with awkwardness and discomfort.

Though he had always thought himself to be a great detective when it came to whatever Antonio was feeling, he could not for his life see what Antonio wanted with him any more. After years and years with this person, knowing the best and the worst of him, every crook and turn, flaws and magnificent attributes, Lovino did not understand what his smile meant. Not the one he offered him in privacy, at least, because he doubtlessly saw the differences between Antonio's polite, fake, happy and lustful ones. It was just that there was this extra kind he couldn't label however hard he tried.

Something inside him pushed at his chest and tugged at his tongue to pronounce the words, telling Antonio that he thought he might want to do this differently. It had been so long, and now Lovino had started to realise that the act of secrecy they put up was absolutely unnecessary.

When it all begun, at the tip of the iceberg with tingling stomachs and giggles building up in his throat all the time, it had been exciting to keep it a secret. It had been silently mandatory for them to love each other when no one else saw it. But now he might have just found himself ready to watch Antonio display as much affection in public as he did behind closed doors. He might have just found himself ready to take his brother's teasing and the roll of other nations' eyes, because he'd be proud and happy to be with Antonio. He might have just, but only if Antonio might have just as well.

___And I will make sure to keep my distance  
Say, "I love you," when you're not listening  
And how long can we keep this up?_

Lovino lay so close to his Hispanic lover that he could feel a vague pulse through their bodies, and continuous breathing landing on the tip of his nose, and a heat radiating as if Antonio were a living sauna; yet his toes were still cold.

"Today, I'm going to tell him," Lovino decided as he closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that he was lying to himself and that he should have stopped doing that a long time ago. He hated it when Antonio called him shy, because he really wasn't, but still he couldn't find the courage to ever do something about his displeased mind. He felt as if he was getting what he wanted, physically, but what he needed in feeling and the reassurance he craved were still being left untouched and unfulfilled.

It was obvious to him that in the end, he would nag at himself to make a change without it happening, until Antonio made some kind of difference himself, instead. That was, if Antonio even wanted to. Lovino still half-doubted the genuineness of touches and whispers from Antonio. Although, he never, ever doubted that he could be all the Spaniard wished for in a bed-mate, or that Antonio couldn't get enough of him, because he was confident enough in his body and his sexual abilities (and also Antonio had a way of letting him know what felt good and what did not,) but when it came to things that were too deep for Lovino to be certain about – like love, and ambiguous wanton in ways of looking each other in the eyes – he pulled back and he shut up. Like right now, for instance, he waited in silence for Antonio to wake up, and this subject would roll to the back of his mind to be touched again whenever he was alone with his thoughts.

Lovino wondered if anyone was suspecting anything between him and Antonio.

___Please don't stand so close to me  
I'm having trouble breathing  
I'm afraid of what you'll see right now  
I give you everything I am  
All my broken heart-beats  
Until I know you'll understand_

As much as he knew what he was feeling, and how ready he was to act despite not being a hundred percent sure about what he ___wanted_, Lovino considered the possibility of him being a coward. He thought he was, really, because he was too afraid to do something that he knew wasn't even that big of a challenge.

Framed with thick, red curtains hanging from the ceiling of Antonio's bed, his toes fiddled with the sheets, and his mind with the pressing accusations against himself. They hurt, in a way, and he wanted to cease them. But he could not stop blaming himself for being scared. Neither could he stop actually being scared. He thought he knew a lot about himself, about romance and about Antonio, but he couldn't even fathom the situation he'd put himself in. He couldn't do anything but stay in it. Follow routines. If only Antonio would take one of the hints Lovino hadn't even given and understand what needed to be done; if only Antonio could tell him that when it all came down to it, he wasn't satisfied only meeting him on weekends for a few hours. The hours spent together in meetings and such never counted, Lovino thought, because he couldn't actually ___be _with Antonio during those.

He wanted Antonio to tell him that when it all came down to it, he loved Lovino's laughter, he loved the colour of Lovino's eyes, the pace of his breathing when he slept and the way he would tap his fingertips against each other when he was concentrated. It might not have been love, because maybe he didn't love ___Lovino_, and maybe Lovino didn't love him either, but they could keep the strangling silence just a little bit. Just enough to ignore the lack of love for each other.

___And I will make sure to keep my distance__  
____Say, "I love you," when you're not listening__  
____And how long can we keep this up?_

___And I keep waiting__  
____For you to take me__  
____You keep waiting__  
____To save what we have_

Lovino jumped a little where he lay when there was a heavy inhale coming from Antonio, breaking the symphony of a ticking clock, a bird outside the window and slow, nearly unnoticeable breathing. Antonio stretched his arms and his legs, jaw open wide as he yawned, before turning his body towards Lovino and looking as if he was ready to go back to sleep again. Waking up was exhausting sometimes, Lovino had to agree with that.

But instead of dozing off, Antonio – eyes still closed – lifted his arm to touch Lovino's bare stomach, his fingertips loaded with invisible electricity that flew through Lovino's skin to erect goosebumps all over it. Lovino shuddered and exhaled audibly, and the tan hand caressed its way over the dip of his waist to his back, holding him. Times like these, Lovino could almost swear Antonio really did feel more than physical attraction. Although, perhaps it was possible to be somebody's best friend while also having sex with them, yet not being in love? He'd have to look further into that.

Another question pestering him: was Antonio aware of the ambiguousness he possessed? Did he know how he tormented and intrigued Lovino at the same time, and how in hell had he mastered the technique to do so? Indeed, times like these, Lovino was on the very verge of asking and declaring, just so that Antonio would know how things really were and how they were supposed to be.

Antonio's fingerprints existed all over the Italian's body. Through the contact between Lovino's skin and the fingertips resting against the small of his back, he was told everything, and he knew that deep down, he wanted this man to love him. How did he get him to know that, though? Antonio didn't already love him, surely. Lovino did not love him either.

Surely.

But he might have just wanted them to fall in love, despite that. He might have just believed that they were about to as well, or at least, that he was. Speaking for Antonio was still hard, especially since the latter had now opened his rested eyes to smile at Lovino in that indescribable way. That smile, reserved for Lovino only. It felt like having a bridge named after him, he realised; or a constellation in the sky meant to look like him and his heart. This, having an Antonio-smile that was only his, was like a thousand stars. But everyone knew that these and these stars were part of the Pisces constellation. The Leo constellation. The Libra, the Cancer, the Sagittarius. He wanted people to know that this particular pull at Antonio's lips was his.

___So I'll make sure to keep my distance__  
____Say, "I love you," when you're not listening__  
____And how long can we keep this up?_

___Make sure to keep my distance__  
____Say, "I love you," when you're not listening__  
____How long 'til we call this love?_

How much did it take before it counted as being head over fucking heels, he wondered. How long until the chocolate-haired man pressing against his neck to smell him and kiss him good morning would tell him with a pair of rosy cheeks that he might have just gone over the edge, crossed the line, and come to the conclusion that he loved Lovino with all he had?

In secrecy, even to himself – though perhaps not as much any more – Lovino might have just done that himself. He might just love Antonio with all he had. He had lived for hundreds of years, and would hopefully live for even longer than that in the future, and despite how long it took, he knew that, one day, Antonio would tell him. He would come to the conclusion. He loved Lovino's smile, the colour of his eyes, the way he walked and the way he could become so captivated by a book he did not hear you when you spoke to him. He would, surely.


End file.
